


And Once For Hope

by Bakuras



Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-27
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-11 10:36:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4432211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bakuras/pseuds/Bakuras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The events of Dangan Ronpa, like those in Super Dangan Ronpa 2, were all a simulation.  Almost five years after the survivors are able to leave the game, the victims and the executed culprits have all woken up, and find themselves called into something much bigger than any one of them.  </p><p>Ishimondo centric.  Rating will change as chapters are added.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 01

**Author's Note:**

> AAA So after months and MONTHS of planning the whole fic out and working out the kinks, I've finally been able to post the first chapter!! Chapter 2 should not be far behind.
> 
> Gore warning for the first section of the chapter, before the page break! Nothing new, but it's a pretty detailed description of Mondo's execution and may not be for the faint of heart!

The pain was never the worst part.  

 

Not, at least, the physical aspect of it.  Which, when Mondo considered it, was actually sort of astounding, given what was happening to his body at the time.

 

Liquification is one of those experiences, and there are very few of them available in the world, where until a person physically goes through it they cannot begin to fathom what it feels like.  It’s nothing akin to a broken bone, a sawed leg, burning alive.  All of which are agonizing, horrific things, of course.  No person of sound mind would file being burned to ash while they’re still conscious as anything less than _heinous_.   But they’re tangible.  Quantifiable.  A person can, at least roughly, predict how those sorts of injuries are going to feel if they were ever to experience them.

 

But the average person has a very _limited_ idea of how much pain a human body has the capacity to feel.  

 

Quite possibly the biggest lie that Mondo had ever been told was through the science programs that he would watch while growing up.  The ones that spoke about near-death experiences - about people falling from a thousand feet and being able to crawl to help three miles away.  Human bodies were hard-wired for survival, the narrator would say.  Pain serves its’ purpose, but if the body becomes so overloaded with it that it no longer functions, it stops.  A person could break every bone in his body and not feel a thing, because at some point, it becomes too much, and whatever pain they could process wouldn’t even translate to their brain.  

 

If he could move his chest in this pressure, Mondo might have even laughed.  

 

The fact that this pain had no threshold became _shockingly_ clear within what felt like ten minutes, but was probably closer to half of one.  And it was his left eye that was was the first to go.  

 

The roar of the engine and the clanking of the cage did nothing to drown out the scream that Mondo emitted when his eye burst, the soft tissue and jelly of it beginning to dribble down his face.  He could do nothing to close his mouth, to keep from _tasting_ it, and he probably would have vomited all over himself if it were possible.  

 

Maybe even in these forces it would be possible, normally.  Perhaps it would even be expected.  But there was a ripping, a burning and a _disconnect_ deep inside of Mondo’s throat where it moved into the cavity of his chest, and he knew that whatever bile was in his stomach had no esophagus to travel up anymore.  

 

His other eye went after that, and the world went dark.  

 

It was never the worst part.  The pain - the millions of tiny rips that were developing deep inside his muscle, in his bone, in whatever skin he had left.  And he had no idea how much there was.  Nor was it when his lungs burst open as easily as his eyes had, and he sat raking himself against the back of the bike, pulling against the restraints and _seizing_ in his body’s attempt to breathe.  

 

(He shouldn’t know that his skin was melting off of his bones - he shouldn’t feel it, the nerves should be _gone - )_

 

(He struggled to scream again, he thrashed his neck to the side violently in an attempt to snap it and _none of it_ was the worst part - .)

 

The worst part, he realized, is that over the screaming that had stopped, over the roar of the engine and the noise of the tires trying to keep their grip on the cage, above even the physiological odds of his eardrums bursting before his eyes and lungs, was a voice.  

 

Kiyotaka was on the outside, and Mondo had **_never_ ** heard someone scream like that.

 

…

 

If he could, he would have screamed back - if his lungs worked, if he had enough tissue in his windpipe left to force the air he would.

 

He would scream I’m sorry until he tore his lungs apart himself.  I’m sorry, I’m **_sorry_** , and a hundred other things he would never think to tell if he couldn’t hear his best friend _destroy himself_ from the inside.  But there was nothing left.  

 

When his neck snapped, he considered it a mercy.

 

* * *

 

 

“Fuckin…give him some room, _DAMN!”_

 

…

 

Mondo shouldn’t have heard that.  

 

He physically _should not be able to hear that._

 

It was disorienting enough to hear voices, or anything other than the screeching buzz from the electric current that ran through his body mere moments ago (or…that’s how it felt, in any case), or hoarse, desperate roaring from his best friend on the outside of the fence.  After that, the quiet of the room aside from the occasional familiar voice was almost _nauseating_ in how badly it threw him off, and he considered for a good four seconds whether he was in the afterlife or somewhere else.

 

It did cross his mind for a split second that he may have only passed out, but the possibility was shot down as soon as it came up.  Survival of the cage would be impossible - even if he somehow came to a halt a third of the way through the execution, he’d succumb to his internal damages in mere minutes, even with instantly available medical care.  So he _had_ to be dead.

 

“Holy shit, ‘s he up?”

 

“He’s up.  He’s up!“

 

Mondo recognized the voices as Leon Kuwata and Yasuhiro Hagakure.  Which made sense, he supposed - Leon was dead for sure, and god only knew how many more people were slaughtered in the school.  It also served as further proof that Mondo was in fact dead somewhere, as there was no way Leon lived through what was done to him.  Mondo saw the carnage with his own eyes.

 

“Fuck, wait - do we…?”

 

Yasuhiro‘s voice was a bit further away, it seemed - though Mondo was a bit too hesitant to open his eyes and make sure.  They were the first thing to go, after all - and ridiculous as it was to believe they might still be gone and not his lungs, which he was actively breathing from -  the possibility was still enough to keep them shut, at least for now.

 

“ - Naegi, get Kiyotaka.”  He continued after a few seconds of silence.

 

“And let him have a fuckin’ heart attack?  Christ. Do not get Kiyotaka.“

 

Mondo probably would have noted more closely that Makoto seemed to be there as well (and he’d probably feel pretty bad about it too - he was a nice kid, and Mondo genuinely did like him, all things considered,) but he was too fixated on the fact that wherever he was, or whatever afterlife he was now a citizen of, Kiyotaka was apparently there too.  

 

…

 

~~He wanted to beat the shit out of himself for being relieved.~~

 

“ - But he’s -”

 

“No.  Don’t - don’t fuckin’ –   _I swear to god -”_

 

“But what if he’s waking up?”

 

“Yeah, you wanna be here if he isn’t?  He _flinched_.”

 

He didn’t even really put much thought into why the hell Leon was putting _so much goddamn effort_ into keeping Kiyotaka out.  All he knew was that somewhere outside this room (if it actually was a room at all) they had him, and if they weren’t going to bring him to Mondo, they sure as shit weren't going to keep Mondo away from him.

 

After having been shrouded in darkness for what, Mondo was now realizing, very well could have been weeks, any light that met his eyes (he did have eyes too now, it seemed -) burned them, and he was forced to keep them almost completely shut until they adjusted.

 

Didn’t stop the rest of him, though.

 

“Ay, ayayayay **_ay_** \- the fuck do you think _you’re_ going?”

 

Leon managed to catch Mondo as he nearly toppled off whatever he had been laying on - or in, one hand over his eyes and the other pushing (or…closer to catapulting) him off of it.  His hold wouldn’t last, though, since Mondo just about doubled the poor kid’s body weight - it couldn’t be long before Leon buckled underneath him and they both collapsed onto the floor.

 

…Except that he didn’t, and Leon had actually managed to hold him long enough to sit him back down and prop him up.

 

“Chill out for a sec, holy shit.  You can’t even open your fuckin’ _eyes_ , man!”

 

“How the hell..”

 

“...How the hell did ya - “

 

“You know what?  You’d know that.  You’d probably know everything ** _I_ ** fuckin’ know by now if you took five goddamn seconds to _breathe_ before throwin’ yourself on the floor!”

 

Mondo wanted to retaliate, to shove Leon out of his path and wobble his way out of the room - or at least make some witty backhand remark about finally seeing the day when **_Leon fucking Kuwata_** knew something that he didn’t.  But Mondo wasn’t witty enough to come up with a response off the top of his head that was worded right, and he could barely stand, let alone walk ..

 

_Mmngh._

 

The biker let out a half-defeated huff before running his hand over his eyes, rubbing at them roughly.

 

He wasn’t sure they’d _ever_ taken so long to adjust to the light.

 

“You waiting on a fuckin’ invitation?”  Mondo snipped, shaking his head in an effort to clear it.  “You’re gonna talk, start talkin.’  Cause I’m not about to sit on my ass and wait for you t- ”

 

…

 

“…Ho-ly **_shit.”_**

 

Mondo rubbed his eyes again and blinked four times in a row, just to make sure they were working right.

 

_This was  not Leon Kuwata._

Not, at least, the Leon Kuwata that he knew.  His now fully-formed beard and long, heavy brown hair would have rendered him almost completely unrecognizable, if it weren't for the clearly dyed, faded red at the ends.  He also looked thin - _scarily_ thin, and his arms, which were now probably half the girth they used to be - did nothing to hide the twin blue and purple bruises at the crook of each elbow, which faded only when they got halfway up his forearm.

 

Once he became aware of it, Mondo could focus on nothing but that.

 

The bruising wasn’t random, either. It was nearly identical on either side, beginning in a wide blotch that was almost black and spidering away in each direction - taking the pattern of veins and vessels as opposed to simply fading to a sickly yellowish edge as it normally should have.  Somehow, though, it looked _worse_ , and Mondo wondered if that may have had anything to do with the thinness of his arms being unable to mask any small part of it.  

 

He sort of wanted to believe that was it, because the implication - the weight, of it turning out to be this way by design made him sick to his stomach to think about.  Explaining it away was a lot fucking easier than accepting that the bruises - the bruises and _everything else_ \- were nothing he had ever seen before, nothing he knew.  He wanted there to be a simple answer to all of this.  Answers that didn’t prompt more questions.  

 

_What happened to us._

**_What did you do to my body._ **

“Jesus _Christ_ , be more obvious about it, will ya?  Maybe?”

 

He must have stared longer than he realized, because Leon crossed his arms and shuffled back a few steps, huffing indignantly.  

 

“Think **I** look like shit?  Y’think this is as bad as it fuckin’ _gets_ , don’t you?  Yeah?”

 

Angry as he tried to seem, Leon sounded...unsteady.  Like he was teetering on the edge of something - crying, shaking, crumbling into a full blown panic attack.  He was holding himself together within an inch of a complete and absolute breakdown, and he knew it, and Mondo knew it too.  

 

 ~~He wasn’t exactly a stranger to that edge~~.  

 

“Probably for the fuckin’ better, right?”  Leon spat, pulling back one more step and stopping.  “Maybe if ya stare at _my_ shit long enough, someone can get a fuckin’ _bull tranquilizer_ in here before you find your way to a _mirror!”_

 

Mondo’s eyes locked with Leon’s.  

 

Leon balked immediately.  

 

Even when Leon tore his eyes away and shifted to the side, Mondo remained fixated onto the same spot.  He didn't follow, he didn't move, he let his eyes burn and burn as he struggled not to blink.  

 

Because if he blinked, or if he looked away, he might lose the tiny _shred_ of control he had over himself.  He was balancing - standing on a thin wire in between the sick, nauseous churning of fear and dread in his stomach -  and a need to know.  

 

The curiosity, the desperation to _understand_ \- to understand where he was, to understand what was happening to his body, what was happening to Leon’s body, what he lost in the transition between wherever he thought he was ten minutes ago and wherever he was now - was loud.   _Deafeningly_ loud.  Loud enough to shift the wire he was balancing on between itself and absolute terror, and if Mondo looked away, he’d lose his footing for sure.

 

He’d look down.  

 

...

 

With the realization that he was, in fact, afraid to look at himself began to sink in - the possibility that Mondo may not be dead after all occurred to him for a fleeting moment.  If he _was_ dead, and this was some sort of afterlife where mortal bodies didn’t need constant attention in order to function at their highest potential (as he always assumed would be the case for any afterlife aside from hell itself, and given that Kiyotaka was with him, didn’t seem to be a likely outcome) it wouldn’t make sense for him to have become frail, unable to walk, unable to stop shaking -

  


_...Weak._

 

_It didn’t make sense for him to be **weak**._

But again, Mondo smothered the thought almost as quickly as it had come.  Of _course_ he was dead.  There really was no other explanation for everything that was happening, everything he felt inside the cage.  He _felt_ his lungs burst open.  He felt his neck snap sharply at the base.  He felt things happen to his body that the most skilled and seasoned medical professionals would never have any _chance_ to salvage.  Any other possibility was nothing but a pipe dream - false hope that he planted in his own mind in an effort to keep himself from completely and utterly falling apart.

 

This was not the time for hope.  

 

“...Look -”

 

Mondo’s eyes finally did move at the sound of Leon’s voice, landing on him once again.  Somehow, the ability to shift them without succumbing to the temptation to look at himself relaxed him a little bit.  

 

Leon huffed out his nose before pulling a chair that was apparently pressed up against the opposite wall (Mondo’s eyes hadn’t quite adjusted enough to get any decent view of anything long-distance)  over to where Mondo was sitting up.  

 

“...Just...just wait.  Let me tell you what I know before ya...eh.”   He paused for a long moment, eyes darting about the room, searching for his phrasing - before continuing.  “...see...anythin’ else.  Alright?”  

 

Mondo finally shut his eyes.  He didn’t open them again until after he nodded.  

 

“Shit, okay, uh -”  Leon rubbed one eye, taking a deep breath.  “Look, ‘m just gonna tell you what they told me, so if ya got questions or anythin’ - and you _will_ , believe me - don’t....fuckin’ turn me upside down ‘n slam my head against the floor or something.  I don’t know a whole lot more than you do, so.”

 

He waited until Mondo nodded again to continue.  

 

“...Alright.  Well uh...first of all, you’re not dead.  I know that’s what you’re thinkin’, same thing I thought too.  Pretty sure it’s the same thing _everyone_ thought, ‘till anyone told us otherwise.”  Leon fidgeted, but this time seemed as though he was actively trying to avoid speaking.  

 

Mondo might have told him to _spit it the fuck out_ if he was sure actually wanted definitive answers.  But the thought of knowing exactly what was going on made him as sick as the thought of telling him seemed to be making Leon - so they hung in silence for what felt like a minute at least.

 

“ - … They kept us asleep.  Not - not to _heal_ , or anything, that would make sense, but...it ain’t that simple, it…”

…

 

“...None of it was _real_ , man.  Not the game, not the murders, fuck - I don’t even know if the _school_ was a real place or if it was just...part of the program...”

 

Another few seconds of silence, though far shorter than the one before.  

 

“There was a group that uh...they got out.  Fuck only knows _how_ , nobody tells me this shit - but they told ‘em we were brain dead anyway.  Never gonna wake up.  Too much trauma to the brain, they all said.  So they just...up and fuckin’ left us, I guess.  Kept us fed through IV’s ‘n nothing else, that’s why we’re all like...this.  Can’t say I blame ‘em, though.  But uh…”  

 

In the pause, Mondo’s voice bypassed whatever sad and largely ineffective excuse he had for a filter in his head - warning him to let himself process everything else before adding something as potentially staggering as what he wanted to know.  

 

“How long?”

 

The shakiness of his voice almost startled him more than anything else he saw or heard since he woke up a few minutes prior.  Which was saying... ** _not_ ** a lot, actually - somehow nothing had fully hit him yet, and he wasn’t sure if it was an inability to accept everything Leon was telling him at face value, or if it was all actually so plausible to him that he was able to process it without bearing the entire brunt of it at once.

 

But Leon hung his head, pulled in a shaky breath, and then locked his eyes onto Mondo’s once again.  

  
“Four and a half years, man.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO chapter two is here!! And I promise chapter 3 won't be too far behind B) this one ended up about twice as long as I intended it to be, I'm so sorry!! 
> 
> I just wanted to take a second here and thank you guys so, so much for all of your wonderfully kind comments. I absolutely will respond to them all individually, but some of them left me so speechless that I actually haven't figured out how to reply yet!! :'D but just know that I read them, I love them, and they absolutely encouraged me to keep writing this. 
> 
> ALSO some notes here (or more like cop-out disclaimers) PRETTY MUCH everything that seems ooc or like it doesn't fit in with the dr universe will be explained later (like...why are they in beds instead of those dang sdr2 pods??? the world may never know...) except you will know. I promise. I swear. Please don't come after me with pitchforks. I'm a good person. 
> 
> SO ENJOY THIS CHAPTER, I can't guarentee that the others will be as long as this one was, but I AM very excited that all of this stuff is out of the way so that the Actual Story can begin. B) it's gonna be fun. I promise.

Mondo, for all that he was, took the rest of the information with a level of calmness and acceptance that was _entirely_ out of character for someone like himself, and Leon seemed to know it.  He hadn’t fully _absorbed_ it yet either, to be fair.  It all sort of felt like a vaguely lucid nightmare, and both of them would come to wonder if it were possible to force themselves awake, back into the scorching and the boiling in the fires of hell where they both surely were instead.  

 

But that dreamlike surreality was building up underneath a layer of glass - a thin, fragile barrier between denial and the realization that this world, these circumstances, were real, and would not give way to something either more or less horrifying eventually.  They could sense it - if not in themselves, in one another, and by the time that Leon had finished debriefing Mondo on everything aside from his current physical condition, they were both _very_ aware that the time would come when that glass would crack and shatter at once, and the reality of the situation would hit them in the chest with the full force of a running bull.

 

The facts were these.  

 

The outside world was not as they left it.  Leon didn’t tell Mondo the scale of the damage -  he didn’t seem to know either.

 

Five survivors were able to exit the game only a few days after Mondo had been executed.  Leon didn’t get the details on how they escaped or why they were allowed to -  apparently it wasn’t of a very high importance, or he figured they would have told him.  The survivors were told that their classmates, while physically alive, would never wake up, and that brain death had occurred within only a few minutes of their execution or murder in the simulation.

 

It wasn’t until the first victim from the second game  (and there _was_ a second game, though Leon didn’t know what it entailed or who was involved) awoke two years later that they began to prepare for the possibility that everyone - the culprits and victims alike - would eventually wake up.  

 

The rest of that group woke up within four days of the first person regaining consciousness.  And the same had happened with their own class.

 

Mondo was the last.  Leon believed it had something to do with the brutality of his execution.  Mondo didn’t exactly disagree.  

 

But, again, he didn’t exactly _accept_ it all either.  

 

“There’s gonna be a safehouse.”  Leon continued.  “It’s kinda on the shit end of the city, but I guess that’s the point?  Like, they’ll hide us there until we’re strong enough to actually...y’know...do anything.  We’re all in pretty crappy shape, anyway.   _Three_ people fainted since I woke up!  Just...fuckin’ conked out, no warning or nothing.  One second they’re standin’ there, next one they’re flat on their fuckin’ face!”  

 

Mondo shifted, grinding his teeth a bit.  The closer Leon got to mentioning physical condition and appearances, the more he could feel the pit in his stomach start to grow and churn.  He was surprised, though - the grinding caused his jaw to ache more than he had expected, to the point where he actually stopped and tried to fidget another way.  Ball his hands into fists, pull on his fingers, bite his nails - anything.  But they all required some level of self awareness of his body, and Mondo wanted to put as much distance between himself and knowing how pathetically, spectacularly, _miraculously_ weak he surely was.  

 

So he had to sit still.   _Perfectly_ still.  Even breathing was a risk.

 

Leon had seemed to catch on, since a few moments after Mondo had tensed up and stopped moving altogether, he offered a half-smile.  It wasn’t in an effort to cheer him up, no, Leon wasn’t like that - nor was it pity, really.  It couldn’t have been pity, since Leon looked like he was ready to keel over on the spot.  Just _empathy_.  

 

“You can cut yourself some slack, dude.  You ate through a _tube_ for almost five fuckin’ years.”

 

Mondo relaxed just enough to let himself snort.

 

Cut yourself some slack.  

 

_Ha._

And for what.  For letting his body deteriorate?  For getting weak enough that he felt like fainting just from sitting up for ten minutes?  For shaking uncontrollably, almost at a constant rate, ever since he woke up?  Or maybe not even that!  Maybe he should _cut himself some fucking slack_ for killing the only person who ever gave a shit about him, and then _lying_ about it!  And then _slaughtering_ the first person who actually came to him for help!  Yeah, that was it.  Forgive yourself for _bashing in the kids’ fucking brains_ for absolutely no justifiable reason, and then, ** _if you still have the nerve_** , forgive yourself for leaving your best friend alone in that hellhole of a school, knowing _fully fucking well_ that you were giving Kiyotaka the only friend he ever had, and then ripping it away from him **_less than a week later!_**

 

**_CUT YOURSELF SOME SLACK!_ **

 

“Hey, hey…  look, man -”

 

“ -- Get him up.”

 

Leon didn’t exactly whip around to see who the voice had come from.  In fact, he barely turned at all, offering only an eye-roll and a clench of his jaw in response.

 

“We leave in half an hour.”

 

Mondo had to shake his head a bit to get his eyes to adjust fully to the figure standing in the doorway, but that didn’t inhibit him from knowing exactly who he was the moment he spoke.  

 

As though he could ever forget that snotty little voice.  

 

“Jesus _shit_ , dude.  Didn’t you have, like, _three fuckin’ days_ before you had to do anything?”  Leon shot back at him.  “You didn’t even die!”  

 

“You seem to be under the impression that time constraints are a fictional concept that have no real bearing in reality.”  Byakuya said.  “Tell me, do boats exist in your universe?  Or do I need to arrange to have you _swim_ to the mainland?”

 

Mondo could finally make out Byakuya’s face.  While he did look older - as old as Leon was at the very least - he seemed to be in decent health.  He was still quite fit, his hair kept  just a small bit longer than last Mondo had seen him, but neat.  While the jacket he was wearing covered his arms, it was highly unlikely that he sported the same deep, black bruises that Leon did.  Mondo decided that he must have been one of the survivors.  

 

The other thing he could make out was the look of faux-pity that Byakuya was giving him.  

 

He decided that once his head wasn’t so muddled that the simple act of thinking felt like swimming through tar to deliver messages from one brain cell to the next, he was going to knock that kid’s fucking lights out.  

 

Come to think of it, he’d probably knock _Leon’s_ lights out too, what with having murdered Sayaka and all.  He was actually sort of surprised that it hadn’t occurred to him yet.  On principle, he _owed_ it to Sayaka to break Leon’s fucking nose the second he was aware of his presence in the room - but he guessed it would have to wait.  Presently the anger (along with just about every other function in his brain) just wasn’t registering, and any will he had to smack the tar out of anyone was far gone.

 

Maybe it was the disorientation.  Maybe it was the lack of full acceptance of the situation.  

 

 ~~ _Maybe it was the knowledge that Mondo himself deserved far worse_~~.

 

He’d get to it, though.  

 

“I suppose it’s true, then.  The execution takes a fairly brutal toll, doesn’t it?  Even now?”  Byakuya’s tone wasn’t even remotely disguised as sympathetic.  ”I only witnessed one other person who looked even halfway as terrible as you do.  And he was tossed into an active volcano.”  

 

Mondo felt his stomach sink again.  

 

...Actually it was more than a sink.  It was as though the pang of anxiety _(Was it_ anxiety?  Were words from _Byakuya fucking Togami_ now able to warrant a nervous reaction in him?) only drew attention to how much he was actually hurting.  It felt closer to a leg cramp - a _severe_ one, but up in his intestines instead, where he could have sworn they were getting tangled and knotted together.  

 

Maybe it had been there since he woke up.  

 

Maybe he didn’t notice it because he wasn’t presently being _melted into paste._

 

“I wonder if it’s an aftereffect of the pain -”  Byakuya continued. “- or perhaps your _own_ body didn’t believe it stood a chance after that...brutality.”

 

“You’re really gonna fuckin’ do this now?” Leon quipped, but Byakuya ignored him entirely.

 

“I cannot _imagine_ what that would have felt like.  Having your bones ground to dust, your muscle pulled from your skin.  I actually heard that your eye popped -”

 

It hurt.

 

“HE’S NOT FUCKIN’ READY -”

 

It hurt ** _so much._**

 

“... Maybe it wasn’t so bad, though?  Perhaps the knowledge that deep down it was... _deserved_ … an atonement - not that I expect you to know what that means, though - perhaps it numbed it?  Just a bit?“

 

Mondo stopped thinking long enough to grab his stomach in an effort to stop the pain.  Byakuya’s face changed - his eyes narrowed, and he appeared to be watching Mondo for a reaction, having dropped his tirade completely with absolutely no notice.  

 

The blood drained from Leon’s face.  

 

Mondo immediately stopped breathing.

 

“Don’t touch him.  Kuwata, back away.”  

_He was so thin._

 

It was then - in the moment where his self control was shoved into the back reaches of his mind, making room for absolute and complete obedience to his own panic - that Mondo finally, _finally_ , looked down.

 

…

 

It looked like **_tar._**

 

Thick, dark liquid filled two needles - one in each wrist, one in each vein.  Not small needles - ones the size of thick nails, held in place by old, yellowed bandage wrapped around his arms.  The bandages were loose, loose enough for him to pull his whole arm (his tiny, _tiny_ arm - ) through without issue, though he didn’t dare try.  

 

He didn’t dare _move._

 

The bruises were darker than Leon’s - stretching from the crook of his elbow to the center of his palm, and in the other direction up into his shoulder.  The pattern was just as precise, just as _dainty_ , just as _meticulously detailed_ as it curved and twisted through his veins and vessels.

 

And then, his body on autopilot - Mondo dragged two fingers down the length of his forearm.  

 

That was when the glass - the veil between disorienting, cloudy stability and the weight of seeing this reality in perfect _, blinding color_ \-  shattered with a loud, heavy **crack**.

 

As though he had teleported on the spot, Byakuya’s hands were around Mondo’s wrists just in time to stop him from ripping the needles from his veins in a panic.  

 

He intended to pull away.  Even in this state, the heir was no match for Mondo, surely - and it was foolish of him to believe that he could restrain him for even a moment.  Mondo could still throw him to the ground and keep him there.  So Mondo pulled.  And pulled.  And _pulled_.

 

...But he wasn’t going anywhere, and Byakuya was stronger than he looked, so as much as he pulled and thrashed and _hissed_ , he wasn’t getting to the needles, and he wasn’t getting out.  

 

“You see what this means, yes?”  His gaze was the same as a moment ago -  calculating, studious.  Not unlike a researcher might watch a lion in the wild.  “You cannot overpower me.  I doubt that you could overpower _anyone_.”

 

Mondo’s breathing was loud and uneven.  His body was trembling.  Not in small shivers, but in huge, violent _quakes_ , and he wanted so badly to believe that it was out of anger, or rage, or something that wasn’t  petrifying, all-consuming _fear -_

 

 _“Will you knock it off?”_  Mondo could hear Leon’s voice plead in the background.  Byakuya ignored him.  

 

“You have not seen what you look like, have you?  I could paint you a picture, if you like - yes, that could work.  Though I’m not sure where to start…”

 

“FUCK OFF!!”

 

“Your bones look as though they’re jutting out of your skin at every conceivable space.  Every joint, every frailty - it’s all so very _exposed_....”  He continued.  “You shake like a beaten dog.  Your eyes are so wide and frightened that I’m almost worried they’ll _come right out of your skull - “_

 

Byakuya’s hands didn’t move, but he shifted his thumbs to rest on Mondo’s veins, pressing down hard enough to feel a pulse -

 

“...Though perhaps it’s better this way.  Look at you.  There’s no feasible way that you could _possibly_ frighten your victim now, is there?  We may make faster progress than we realized.  Culprit and victim relationships have proven to be unsteady, too tied up in fear to develop quickly - but in the way you’re balking and trembling I doubt greatly that any of that will prove to be an issue.”  

 

Mondo broke eye contact with Byakuya.  He stared downward, eyes locked firmly on the underside of his arms.

 

The harder he tried to steady them the more violently they shook.  

 

He was breathing in gasps.  Loud and heavy.  Loud and heavy.  

 

Like a wheeze.  But with more weight.  

 

… And then suddenly, there was something shoved into his face, a _mirror_ , and Mondo didn’t have enough self control left in his weak, weak, weak little body to rip his eyes away before he had the chance to see it.  

 

Byakuya’s thumb (and it’s only one now, it seems, the other was wrapped firmly around the mirror)  was digging hard enough into his wrist to physically _hurt_ him, but he only barely, distantly noticed.  

 

Even teetering _dangerously_ close to panic attack, Mondo had enough clarity of mind to convince himself that he’d seen the worst of what he was - that the frailty of his wrists and the way his ribs jutted from his torso was enough of a shock to dull whatever he would see when his true form finally revealed itself, but he was wrong.  

 

For everything he’d done, for every shitty, _selfish_ choice he made inside of the game and out, he knew now that he had never been so, so very wrong.

 

There wasn’t a sound in the room aside from Mondo’s breathing and the soft, guttural hum of the machine by his bedside.  Byakuya’s eyes had softened, Leon had looked away.  

 

_...What happened to me._

 

Mondo’s eyes were the first thing that he really noticed.  Eyes that once held the ferocity and intensity to frighten even his most dangerous rivals into balking - were now sunken in and dull, pupils wide in the very same terror he had seen in his victim’s final moments -- all of the life, all of the _fight_ , seemed to be pulled from them, replaced with the soul of a trembling, flighty _doe._  

 

Byakuya’s comment about his bones wasn’t an exaggeration.  In fact, if _anything_ , it didn’t fully do justice to _how close_ they looked to the very surface of his skin, how they seemed as though they were brittle enough that he could break them only by shifting.  He feared moving, half because _breathing_ might even be enough to shatter them, and half because he didn’t want to connect his movements to the **thing** he saw in the reflection, as there was still some disconnect left.

 

He closed his eyes for a moment, moving slowly to pull his hair around to the front of his shoulders.  Thankfully it was long enough now to hide most of his body from the reflection.  It had grown, too - his deep brown roots extended well past his shoulders now, the dyed blonde ombre starting almost halfway down his back.  There would be no point in attempting to style it now.  Which was fitting, he supposed - he preached once that a man’s very _soul_ was held inside his pompadour, a physical manifestation of the strength he held inside of him.  So having hair that was far too heavy, too thick and long _...fit._

 

It fit so well that it made Mondo even sicker.  He might have thrown up if there was anything inside of him that wasn’t thick, black sludge.  

 

“...This - “ Byakuya removed his hand from Mondo’s wrist, but not without nodding in its’ direction first.  “...is why we had to remove Kiyotaka from the room.”  

 

Mondo said nothing in response, but he did pull his eyes away from the mirror to glance in Byakuya’s direction.  But it wasn’t Byakuya who continued.

 

“Did it to all of us.”  Leon snorted.  “Showed us whatever they think’ll shock us the most, right when we fuckin’ wake up.  Don’t even give us ten minutes.”

 

“It is not out of malice - “

 

“It’s still really fuckin’ fucked up.  REALLY fuckin’ fucked up.”

 

“I’m sorry, Mister Kuwata, would you have preferred having your first bout of horror on the boat?  With nobody around?  Would you rather it be left to chance that your heart might altogether stop working?  Would _that_ have been better for you?”  

 

Byakuya turned back to Mondo again.  “It is an inevitable reaction.  You are going to panic sooner or later, everybody has.  We... _we_ being the Future Foundation, that is, but you’ll learn of that soon enough - decided it was better to trigger it early, when we could ensure that your organs don’t fail at the first sign of distress.  It isn’t entirely unheard of.”  

 

“...We had to terminate procedure in Kiyotaka’s case.  Not...not because he would hurt himself, that was not it.  It was…”

 

He glanced down at Mondo’s wrists again.  

 

 _“...You_ were the most shocking thing we could show to him.  But we seemed to...overestimate his self control in such a state.”

 

Mondo shifted his eyes.  He could feel something - something other than terror, other than anxiety -

 

It shouldn’t have felt so _unfamiliar_ , so _distant_ , it was only a day ago that he felt **_rage_ ** the last time, but it WASN’T, it was _YEARS -_

 

“Oowada.”  

 

Byakuya was looking at him.  He was looking at his eyes.  

 

“Look at your arms.”  

  
It took a moment.  It took a long, _long_ moment - the split second of anger had passed as quickly as it had come, and Mondo found himself attempting to grapple onto it, to stay in that state, but he was just…

 

...He was just too _tired_.

 

“He clawed at you."  He continued.  "You may be able to see the marks better when the bruising starts to fade, but… your veins are far too frail.  If Kiyotaka was not removed from the room, you would have hemorrhaged and bled out where you lay.”

 

Byakuya took Mondo’s hand - gently this time, if it were _possible_ for the heir to be gentle, and Mondo let him.  He set the mirror down on Mondo’s bed, using his now free hand to spider up his arm to where the needle was still inserted before tapping at the vein right in front of it experimentally.

 

"These cannot stay in you forever."

 

“Bite this.”  Leon said, placing a small, rolled up towel in front of Mondo’s mouth.  “It’s gonna hurt.”

 

Mondo hesitated for a moment before Byakuya nodded in agreement.  “The IV runs deep.  Deep enough to warrant an anesthetic of some sort under normal circumstances.  Given your condition, however - any painkillers that we could give to you could kill you instantaneously, by stopping your heart or otherwise.  And I doubt you want that.” 

 

That last bit alone was enough to make Mondo snort.   _(Funny.  He didn’t think he had it in him.)_  He wasn’t sure _what_ he wanted at this point, to be honest.   _ ~~Especially in regards to whether he lived or died.~~_

 

But he took the towel between his teeth either way.  It was unlikely that whatever Byakuya was going to do to him would be anything _remotely_ close to what he suffered in the death cage, but that didn’t mean he was particularly looking forward to it.  He clenched his fist experimentally for a moment, trying to get an idea of how deep the needle actually was, but it didn’t really do much.  

 

So Mondo nodded, sucked in a breath, and bit.

 

“Hold very, very still -”  

 

Byakuya pulled the bandages surrounding the IV up Mondo’s arm, resting them closer to his bicep and away from his wrist.  He cleared his throat as he stroked the forearm, softly, _softly_ \- as though he was looking for something inside... And then he took two fingers and pressed onto the vein just in front of where the needle entered Mondo’s skin, and slowly, slowly, **_slowly_ ** pulled.

A muffled “FUCK.” was all Mondo could manage in between the hitching of his breath and the clenching of his jaw.  

 

“Yeah, buddy.  Shit stings like a demon.”  Leon said, hovering closer to Mondo’s head.  Mondo wasn’t as dumb as they seemed to think he was - he saw the looks they exchanged as Byakuya began to remove the needle.  He saw Leon slowly inch his way closer to his bedside.  He _knew_ they’d planned for Leon to hold him down if he thrashed about too much, or refused to let Byakuya continue, or tried to fucking _rip them out himself_.  He saw Leon’s body language - wound up tight, ready to throw himself onto him if need be.  

 

In between hisses and groans of pain _(involuntary - desperate - pathetic.)_  Mondo allowed himself to wonder why they would bother going to so much trouble.  Restraining him wouldn’t exactly be hard.  

 

The pulling finally, finally stopped, and Byakuya quickly began wrapping a new bandage around the entry point.  “You are going to bleed somewhat excessively.  The amount will most likely alarm you, but it isn’t abnormal.  After all, this -"   He held up the needle - and it was the first time Mondo actually got a good look at it.  Several inches long at least, just as thick as it looked from the outside. “...is what we pulled from you.”

 

Mondo took a deep, shaky breath.  

 

It wasn’t after even a full second of relief that it dawned on him that he still had another needle to pull out.  He almost, _almost_ cried.

 

By the time his arms had been bandaged (and re-bandaged, the first arm had bled through the gauze before Byakuya could even finish tying off the second) Mondo had started regaining a small bit of his strength.  He asked at some point if he could eat, as he was beginning to realize how hungry he actually was, but that suggestion was shut down fairly swiftly.  He had to give his body a few hours to adjust, and what little he would be able to eat later would have to be monitored by one of the members of the Future Foundation’s medical staff, to ensure that he was able to digest it properly after all that time of being fed intravenously.  And, true to Mondo’s _brilliant_ stroke of luck, said staff had fucked off to the mainland with most of the class already, so even if he did wait a few hours, he still wouldn’t be able to eat anything there.  

 

Byakuya and evidently had time prioritized over retaining Mondo’s dignity, because he and Leon wasted no time lifting him off of his bed and into a wheelchair they had carted in from outside the room.  It was old and clunky, but seemed stable enough to hold him for as long as he needed it.  He almost put his pride above his own safety and insisted on walking the distance to the boat - but he figured that he’d rather be pushed around for a few minutes then try and look like a tough guy and fall flat on his face.  So he kept his mouth shut.  

 

…

 

The last time Mondo had seen Kiyotaka was during the final moments of his trial.

 

He had heard him, sure - he could _still_ hear him, almost, as a distant ringing in his ear, a constant drone humming below all other sound.  The screaming that sounded as though he was tearing apart his own throat with the force of it.  It wasn’t a sound one forgets easily, and it wasn’t a sound Mondo would forget at all, it seemed.  

 

But sight was so different - and he couldn’t put a finger on why.  There was something about the fire - the _conviction_ , in Kiyotaka’s eyes as he defended him (wrongly, unshakably, as though the thought that Mondo would pull such a horrific act was so far fucking removed from the real plane of reality that it didn’t even occur to Kiyotaka that he could possibly be wrong) that just couldn’t translate into vocals, no matter how he screamed, and screamed, and _screamed_.  Every breath, every sharp, almost erratic movement, was so loud and sure. More so than Mondo had ever seen Kiyotaka be about anything else, however passionate he may have been about it.

 

He had stood in front of Mondo, making himself a wall between the only friend he ever had (and possibly ever would) and the people who knew better than to doubt what was surely in Mondo’s true nature.  

 

Mondo thought the last he would see of his best friend would be the moment they ripped him away, the vote cast and his wounds bared out to the open room, when the hands that were still gripped so tightly onto his collar that they shook were torn from him, and Mondo was stolen from the room and tied.  

 

He didn’t turn around after that.  He remembered thinking that he should have.  He should have mouthed that _he was sorry, that everything was going to be okay, that he wasn’t afraid._  But he didn’t.  In the cage, just before his neck snapped into two jagged parts, he wished he could have seen him one last time.  Even if it was in all of that darkness.

 

And now, in the blinding light of the sun on the island, Kiyotaka stood not thirty meters from him.  

 

The wheelchair stopped.  

 

“...Not yet.”

 

“No.”  Mondo snapped.  “No, you can’t be fuckin’ -”

 

“He is dangerous.   ** _Especially_ ** to you.”

 

 _“Especially_ to me?  The fuck does that mean, especially to me.  He ain’t dangerous.  He can’t BE dangerous.”  

 

“He can bleed you out.  Those wounds are leaking at a dangerous rate as they are.”

 

He could feel a little jolt in his seat as Byakuyas’ grip on the chair tightened.  It only served to make him angrier.

 

“HOW.”  Mondo whipped around to look at him.  “WHY do you think he’s gonna start rippin’ me apart?  You think he’d pull my fuckin’ veins out?  Think you gotta protect ME from _HIM_?  Like he’d up and fuckin’.....”  He trailed off, his words leading his thoughts nowhere - nowhere aside from a repetition of how dare you, how dare you how dare you how **_DARE_ ** you, think this gentle GENTLE man is **_ANYTHING like I am -_**

 

“Oowada, I know you are capable of more restraint than -”

 

“STOP.  Talkin’ to me like I’m a fuckin’ KID!”  Mondo stood, shakily, (and probably too quickly, if the split-second of haze he felt when he got up was anything to go by)  “I KNOW HIM.  Better than any of YOU even fuckin’ TRIED to!!”  

 

How could they judge him like this.  Like he’d ever, EVER, hurt Mondo the way Mondo hurt everyone else.  Like he’d lay a hand on him.  Like he’d kill him.  

 

Those pieces of shit thought Kiyotaka could _kill_ him.  As though he was capable of killing _anyone_.  

 

There was another moment of haze where Mondo nearly lost his footing, but he caught himself before his balance could be completely thrown off.  

 

If they weren’t going to take him, he was going to walk.  If his legs were going to fail him, he was going to crawl.  If that failed him too, he’d drag himself across the sand with whatever parts of his body were still functioning enough to get him there.  They couldn’t stop him.  Not from this.  

 

His steps were uneven and unbalanced, and he almost fell to his knees three times for every two steps he took, but he made his way closer.  Closer.  Closer.

 

…

 

Closer…  

 

…

 

He expected that Kiyotaka might look different, just as he did - that his hair would have grown, that he’d be just as thin and frail as Mondo was, but this… _this_ …

 

...It wasn’t that...his hair was longer, yes - past his shoulders, hiding much of his spine and shoulders.  He wore  no shirt, no shoes - only a loose pair of white pants that had been stained and spotted by blood and sand - and hard, silver cuffs pulling his wrists around behind his back.  He was thin, as Mondo had assumed, but there was something _else_...something in the way he was _moving_ …

 

He didn’t see Mondo for several seconds, and Mondo wondered if it really was Kiyotaka that he was looking at - the face was right from what he could see, though much of it was obscured by thick strands of black hair falling in front of it - but it wasn’t right.   _None_ of it was right.

 

“...It happened after your trial.”  Makoto said.  Mondo hadn’t even realized he was there.  He was different too - but closer to Byakuya in health, and he seemed to have grown since they’d last seen each other.  Mondo didn’t take note of much else.  “He didn’t eat, didn’t sleep.  Didn’t talk… Then he just...snapped.”  

 

The nausea was back.  

 

Not only did Mondo completely fuck him over by deserting him in an environment that he didn’t have a chance of surviving  (if he so unfalteringly trusted a monster like Mondo, there was no way he could make it out alive -) but he completely broke his _mind_ , destroyed him in an absolute, _complete_ way, and he _may never come out of it -_

 

“...He convinced himself that you were still alive. _In him._  He started acting like you - not...that you’re always… no, I’m not saying _that_ , I mean - he’s just...not himself.   We haven’t been able to get him back since.”

 

Mondo did fall to his knees that time.  It was in sand.  It didn’t hurt.  He almost wished it did.  

 

Kiyotaka still wasn’t looking at him.  He wasn’t looking anywhere, actually.  

 

Not until Makoto spoke again.

 

_“...Ishida.”_

 

Kiyotaka’s eyes shot up to Naegi.  It was the first time Mondo got a good look at them.  

 

They _were_ Kiyotaka’s eyes.  Deep red, just as intense as they had always been - but the intensity in them seemed to be misdirected.  Where there was once determination, focus, an _infuriating_ stubbornness that Mondo didn’t fully know the depth of until he watched his refusal to believe the things he had done - there was now darting, panicked **chaos**.  They moved rapidly, like an animal poised to hunt, but also set wide and frightened.  

 

_Like a beaten dog about to bite his master’s hand._

 

“...Ishida....”  Mondo found himself whispering.  So that’s what he called himself - a fusion of their names, believing himself to be a fusion of them.   ** _“Ishida.”_**

 

Kiyotaka’s eyes locked onto his.

 

The red peering from underneath long, black hair felt so _feral_.  

 

Kiyotaka was never soft, not one bit.  But he was never _this_ either.  Unmoving, breathing suspended, completely still except for  -

 

...Except for _laughing_ , it seemed.

 

“Oowada.  Back up.”  Byakuya warned, moving to step in between them.  As though Kiyotaka could do anything.  As though he could hurt him.

 

“You’re……… _.here!”_

 

_God, even his voice felt manic._

 

It came between wheezing and hard laughs.  Loud and bombastic as it always had been, but unhinged and unfocused, just the same as his gaze.  

 

“--of c-course!  Of COURSE you’re here!”  He continued.  “You always come back, I know, you never...you never stay, of COURSE you never stay, you never never **_NEVER_ ** stay, but that doesn’t mean…...you’re not --”  

 

He paused for a moment to pull at the restraints that bound him.  When they didn’t give, he jerked and yanked, speaking in between increasingly desperate thrashes.  

 

“....You always……...you always DO This to me, Kyoudai, you come for a second, you come for a second or LESS sometimes and then you’re GONE!!!  And if I look up - i-i-if I look UP at you, if I look back up you’ll be gone, just like you always are, you come and then you leave and you leave and you _leave-”_

 

He stopped again, and stopped thrashing as well this time, to bite his teeth together and sob.  Hard, loud, body-quaking sobs, in between loud, hard, body-quaking breaths.  

 

It was in that moment that the bravado seemed to halt, and this facade - this person that Kiyotaka had created - seemed to unravel before his eyes.  The ferocity was gone.  

 

At this point he was just trying to breathe.  

 

“Kiyo -”  

 

No response.  Or at least, nothing different.  

 

“...I don’t - I...fuck, no, I ain’t….I’m not good, at this - ” Mondo stumbled.  “Kiyo, Kiyo I’m...it’s me, I’m not...I don’t know how the fuck to prove it but I feel like if I CAN, I can …. - I don’t know how….I don’t….”  

 

His lip shook.  Tears brimmed at the corners of his eyes, threatening to fall.  He let them.  

 

Mondo had only cried in front of anyone twice - once, in the sauna, when it was only he and Kiyotaka, together, and he felt like he _could_ \- and not again until he was being convicted of _murder_ -

 

But he _let_ himself this time, because _maybe it was magic_.  Maybe it was like movies, where tears healed deep, deep wounds, and soft, silent sobs  could shift the earth, and everything was always solved after the _lowest possible point -_ -

 

It was hard.  It was _harder_ to speak through it.  The way his voice shook and bubbled in his throat - he hated it, but _maybe_ \--

 

… _Maybe_ \--

 

“Kiyo -  Kiyotaka, Kyoudai - Fuck, fuck fuck **_fuck_ ** \- I’m **_sorry_** , I’m sorry this is...this is all...”  

 

He wasn’t thinking when he pressed the back part of his hand against Kiyotaka’s cheek.  

 

He _started_ thinking when Kiyotaka locked up on contact.  

 

It was silent, but he leaned into Mondo’s touch experimentally, twitching as though he was afraid that he might go right through it.  He didn’t.  

 

That’s when Mondo could see something.  It wasn’t much - but there was a spark, there was SOMETHING, something in his head was trying _so hard_ to click, but he was so, so frightened -

 

“Take ‘em off.”  Mondo whipped around to Byakuya.  “The cuffs.  Get ‘em off of him.”

 

“They’re on for our _protection_.”

 

“FROM HIM??”  Mondo made a move to stand up, but then decided against it, unsure if Kiyotaka would revert back if he removed that physical contact.  “HE’S _NOT_ A FUCKIN’ THREAT - “

 

“He _could_ be, if - “

 

“No…”  Makoto interjected.  “Mondo’s right.  Kiyotaka never tried to hurt anyone before.. _.the first time._  Even Hifumi.”  He paused before pulling a small keyring out of his pocket and tossing it into the sand beside Mondo’s leg.  “He’s not dangerous.”

 

“I’m not saying he would _intentionally_ harm anyone here.  He - _mnh.”_

 

Defeated, Byakuya shut his fucking mouth for once.  Maybe that was the miracle for the day.  Mondo hoped he could pull one more out.  

 

“Look, I’m gonna...I’m gonna move my hand here, okay, but it’s just to take those...things offa you, alright...I’m still here, I’m still talkin’ - ”

 

Mondo didn’t stop talking when he removed his hand except for the very first second where he held his breath.  “...I’m here, I’m just gonna… just gonna grab these, see - look, I’m gonna come over...gonna come behind you, alright - you can still see me, I’m still _here_ , I just...I gotta…”  

 

**_Clank._ **

 

Mondo took one more moment to inspect Kiyotaka’s wrists and make a mental note to add Makoto to his _beat their ass later_ list if they were too badly cut up.  He couldn’t tell quite yet, not under all of the bruising.  He’d keep an eye on it though.  

 

Mondo half-expected Kiyotaka to stretch, or to roll his shoulders, or **_anything_** , but his hands only fell to his sides.

 

“...I saw…”  Kiyotaka finally spoke.  It was quiet, and it was still unlike himself, but Mondo _knew_ that it was him this time.  He _knew_ it.  “I saw you, I _heard..._ you... -”

 

He came completely undone when Mondo gathered him into his arms.  But this time, the sobs weren’t the aftermath of hard, discordant laughter - they were completely genuine, completely _open_ , completely _Kiyotaka_.  

 

The others had stepped back to give them some space, quietly mentioning that they were going to prepare the boat to head back to the mainland.  

 

Kiyotaka wept and wept. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is actually more like chapter three part one, but since chapter three itself was beginning to be really, really long I decided to go ahead and slice it in half :'D 
> 
> Part two should be coming shortly (at least in a shorter amount of time than it took to get this one out!!) but I can't make any big promises time-wise. School is really brutal right now, so writing is something I can't really do a whole lot of at the moment! 
> 
> AND Because a few of you have been asking - yes, I intend to see this fic through to its completion! It will probably come out around 16-20 chapters or so, but as of this very second that's a really rough estimate.

Mondo took no issue with being nude in front of other men.  Even with his body in this state, he couldn’t bring himself to be embarrassed by it - that sort of thing came naturally to him.  He was actually more uncomfortable with being aware of his _own_ body than to have others see him.  So no, it wasn’t having other men see him naked that was bothersome.  

Being _scrubbed down_ , however…

...It wasn’t _humiliating_ , no, that was too strong of a word - but it was _enormously inconvenient_ and irritating to him.  Especially when the person doing the scrubbing was none other than Byakuya fucking Togami.  

He had a choice, though, so he couldn’t _technically_ complain.  Between he and Kiyotaka, one would be scrubbed down by Byakuya and one by Makoto, and there was no way in hell he was letting Byakuya anywhere near his best friend, especially in the condition he was in.  He normally wouldn’t let Makoto either, but it was a large shower room, enough for four or more people at least.  So at least he could be there.  

...He tried not to think about the fact that he probably couldn’t do anything to stop them if either of them decided to cuff him again, or worse.  

But he worried more about what would happen to Kiyotaka if he and Mondo were put into different rooms, even if only to shower.  His mind was still fragile, still at very real, tangible risk of breaking again.  Mondo probably wouldn’t leave his line of sight for several days at least, maybe even weeks.  Not until he was stable enough to handle the reality that Mondo was, in fact, alive, and not run the risk of immediately excusing all of it as a mirage the second he couldn’t see him anymore.  

He even seemed antsy being away from physical contact.  The entire two hour ride over, both by boat and armored car, they’d kept at least one finger touching at all times.  And now, in the bathroom, that wasn’t really an option given how the seats were situated in the shower, so they were completely apart for the first time since then.  

For anyone who knew Kiyotaka, his discomfort was clear.  

Thankfully, it didn’t last too long (though Mondo would admit that the hot water _did_ feel pretty nice, all things considered) and they were given dry clothes to change into.  Nothing particularly fancy or expensive, but comfortable nonetheless.  White tee shirts and loose white pants that fit like pajamas more than they did street clothes.  Mondo didn’t look at the sizing.  He also tried to ignore that the clothes just about _hung off of his body._

Kyouko Kirigiri was the first to formally greet them after they were dressed.  She looked largely the same, if a bit older, one of the few people they had seen  in the house who dressed in anything other than the white clothes that Mondo and Kiyotaka were given.  She wore a black suit, hair neatly pulled half-back and braided, and stood several inches taller than she had several years ago.  “...The Future Foundation building is better equipped to handle large groups of people, so don’t think you will be spending forever on these cots.”  She said.  “They’re surprisingly comfortable, though, as you will come to find out.”   Kyouko cleared her throat, eyes flicking between both of them.  To Mondo’s slight relief, she didn’t exactly seem _shocked_ by their condition, at least as far as she was showing.  “We have a mandatory debriefing scheduled in less than an hour, and you are the last group here, so unfortunately you won’t have much free time after a short tour to get settled.”  

There was only one wheelchair available at the time, and Kiyotaka insisted that Mondo be the one to use it, and despite Mondo’s protests, he managed to convince him.  If the order of the students waking up was dependent on the brutality of their deaths, it wasn’t exactly far-fetched to assume that their rate of _recovery_ was somehow linked to it as well.  Besides, once he had come back to himself, Kiyotaka didn’t have much of a problem remaining upright since they left, and Mondo had nearly blacked out several times on their way over.  

It made perfect sense, but that didn’t mean Mondo had to like it.  

The safehouse felt more like a cabin than anything else, despite being mostly underground.  While there weren’t many rooms and not much opportunity for privacy, the rooms it _did_ have were spacious enough to be comfortable, even with as many people down there as there were.  There was a well-stocked kitchen in the same space as the common area, both with tile floors and walls that looked like they were made of well-kept wood, which seemed a bit odd, admittedly.  For a place meant to house the students temporarily, it really did feel...like a home.  A nice, kept home.  

Nicer than anywhere Mondo had stayed, at least.

Kyouko did seem a bit distracted as she explained where everything was, and how to access the higher parts of the cabinets from the wheelchair in case Mondo needed it longer than he had anticipated, but neither Mondo or Kiyotaka thought much of it.  It was true that she was much more frazzled than usual, that much was obvious - but getting everybody off the island and safely into the city couldn’t have been a small task.  Even for someone like her.  

Besides, Mondo couldn’t spend time analyzing every move she made when he had to keep an eye on Kiyotaka as well.  

He was definitely more himself than he was on the island, that went without question, but he still felt... _off_.  He stayed quiet for most of the day, not speaking much unless prompted by either Byakuya or Makoto (who were hesitant to ask him anything _anyway_ , and Mondo wondered if it had anything to do with the look he shot them whenever they engaged him at all.)  Even when he _did_ speak, it was softly, aside from those few minutes when he insisted that Mondo take the wheelchair instead of him.  

It made sense for him to be acting strangely (Mondo wasn’t about to pretend that he wasn’t, too) but it was still enough to make Mondo worry about him.  

They finished the tour with about ten minutes to spare before the debriefing.  Mondo felt himself growing sicker.  

The merciful thing about being a thoughtless, bloodthirsty _monster_ was that, once the crime was said and done, there was no real confrontation to deal with.  Murderers don’t have to see their victims again - sure, they may be confronted by their families if they’re caught, but that’s not even close to being comparable.  Aside from a split second of _absolute terror_ , they never fully realize the pain, the horror, the _fear_ , that they’re putting this other person through.  No murderer has had to see the aftermath.  To see, to have to speak to -  another human being that they stole a life from after the fact had to be the absolute, ultimate punishment.

It wasn’t enough that Mondo had been liquefied alive, no.  

He had to look into someone’s eyes after _cracking open their skull and having their **brain** on his hands._

…

Mondo was ashamed of himself for being scared.  

He had no right to be.  No right at all.  

“...If we could have everyone begin to make their way into the common area so that we may begin promptly, that would help immensely!”  Said a girl who had just stepped in through the doorway.  She was relatively tall, with long, blonde hair that reached well past her waistline, and she spoke with an accent that Mondo had never heard before.  Mondo didn’t recognize her, but she dressed similarly to Kyouko, so he figured that she must be a member of the Future Foundation as well, whatever that actually was.  

Thankfully, the girl disappeared back into the other room as fast as she had ducked in, so Mondo actually had a minute of privacy to prepare himself.  

As though he could be prepared.

“...Kyoudai…” Kiyotaka spoke softly, as though he wasn’t quite sure he was completely committed to what he was about to say.  

“Yeah?”

“I...I apologize, this is horrendously selfish of me to ask - I know there will be many people gathered in the common area, and I understand that it will be difficult to navigate in the chair, but-”  He paused, taking a moment to tuck the hair that had fallen into his face behind one ear.  “-I think we would benefit from one another's...continued support.”

Mondo actually managed something vaguely resembling a smile at that.  

Kiyotaka stood in the presence of a _murderer_ and believed that he was being selfish.  Selfish for daring to ask not to be left alone?  For offering his own support as both of them would go through what may very well be the _most difficult moments_ Mondo would ever have to deal with?  

“‘S not selfish.”  He muttered, softer than he intended to be.  “...If you didn’t ask, _I_ would’ve, if that means anything.  And uh...the chair thing isn’t...anything either.  I can get out of it long enough to find a place to sit, so.”  

He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry.  

Part of him considered bolting, actually.  Which was stupid.  He had no idea where he was, what the city was actually like.  How long he could stay conscious.  Unless he somehow made his way to a bike, he’d be stuck on foot with nothing, and in this condition he’d die within a week’s time.  Besides, even if he _did_ find a bike somewhere, he wasn’t completely certain he could even get _on_ it.  As much as he wanted to believe it wasn’t the case, he knew that his next time riding was going to be a difficult one.  

And when it came to Kiyotaka - either he would take him, unable to guarantee his safety or survival, or abandon him again.  It wasn’t as though he was sure that Kiyotaka wouldn’t go after him, either.  Even by himself.  

The thought felt like a hundred punches to his tiny, _tiny_ body.  All over, all at once.  

…

He and Kiyotaka made it into the common area, where a few students had already taken their place and sat down.  Leon, who gave a small, half-honest wave, Yasuhiro, who was too wrapped up in showing Leon what looked like a children's’ game to acknowledge them at all, Aoi Asahina, who wasn’t seated, opting instead to stand at the bar in between the kitchen and the common area and scribble something down on a sheet of paper, and lastly, at almost the other end of the room, sat Celestia Ludenberg.  

And she looked _just as shitty_ as everyone else.  

The girl didn’t wear sickness well.  There were purple rings surrounding her sunken eyes, hair disheveled (what was _left_ of it, at least - the long, curly drills were gone, and what remained was much thinner and duller than anything he assumed Celes would let herself be seen with - ) her body had been frail to begin with, but after four years, she looked as though she was hanging onto life by a thin, frayed thread.  

She looked Kiyotaka up and down once, and then looked away.  Mondo didn’t put it together.

With every student that funneled into the room, Kiyotaka seemed to scoot closer.  They were on a large couch, so obviously he wasn’t making space.  Maybe it was for his own comfort.  Maybe it was for Mondo’s.  Maybe he could hear the way Mondo’s breathing was drawn out and heavy, ending in small, but unquestionably noticeable shakes.  

_...What fucking happened to him._

Mondo was huge once.  In presence, even if nothing else.  Wolves aren’t born Alphas, they claw their way to the rank with tooth and blood - and that’s exactly what Mondo would do, too.  He _earned_ his loyalty by making himself as overpowering as he could, by baring his teeth and by being unafraid to sink his claws into flesh and prove that his bite was worse than his bark.  He’d lived a life of wanting to be bigger.  Louder.  Meaner.  A hundred times more vicious than the next person in line, and ready to let every potential challenger know it.

And now, all he wanted to be was small.  

He tugged on a strand of hair, silently missing the way it used to cast a shadow over his face and conceal him.  

“Alright, now that everybody’s here…”

Byakuya was back, taking his place in front of the group of students that had formed around the chairs and the floor.  Kyouko, Makoto, Aoi, the girl that called them into the room, as well as a few other people that Mondo hadn’t seen before stood behind him, around the area that turned into the kitchen.  A few of them held clipboards that they seemed to be taking notes on, in between the moments when their eyes would dart from student to student.  

“...We understand that you all may have several questions that went unanswered.  Today, as well as the four days preceding it, perhaps have proved...difficult.  Traumatic, even, for a great many of you.”  

Byakuya spoke as though he were reading a script, but there was an unusual tone of genuineness underneath the formulaic speech that felt...unfamiliar.  Even more so than the slightly empathetic way he acted that morning.  

“And it is in that interest that we have elected to fully expose you to the reality of this world over the course of five days, giving you as much time as we can afford to process the information we give to you.”  He nodded toward Makoto and Kyouko, who had moved to stand by his side.  “Today you will learn only what is crucial for you to know.  Beyond that, those of us at the Future Foundation _strongly_ discourage speculation amongst yourselves until you are exposed to new information in the presence of our medical staff, who can provide assistance if the shock proves to be overwhelming.”  

Kyouko stepped forward, and in turn Byakuya took a step back to let her have the space.  She offered him a quick nod before turning back to the students.  “As some of you already know, starting next week we will begin transferring you to the Future Foundation building in groups of four or five.  The order of transfer is dependent on your recovery rate.  The facility is deep inside the city, and you will most likely go without readily available medical attention for up to an hour or more, so the more stable among you will take that trip first.  Is that clear?”  She posed it as a question as opposed to an order, but nobody responded aside from a few _‘mm-hmm’s_ of agreement.  It seemed to be satisfactory for her, though.

“As far as your stay right _now_ goes, there are a few things that we’d like everybody to abide by.  Just as we mentioned before, we discourage any speculation about information that has not been released to you yet.  It isn’t that we’re purposely hiding secrets, it just cannot be predicted how your bodies will respond.  Until we are positive that your organs won’t go into shutdown the moment you begin to _panic_ , which is more feasible than you realize, actually - we ask that you take the time in between meetings to digest what you’ve learned, instead of attempting to add more material to it.  In addition, you will each be going through closely-monitored physical therapy sessions a few times a day, both individually and in groups.  This is to ensure that you heal as completely and quickly as possible.  Food will also be monitored closely by our medical staff, who will help with the transition from intravenous feeding to solid foods, hopefully having you all back to eating normally within a few short days.”

Kyouko paused, taking a moment to look through the group of students sitting before her.

“Now, _concerning the three culprits.”_

All of the eyes in the room divided between Mondo, Leon, and someone in the corner that he wasn’t aware of.  He didn’t dare move his head to look.  

...But what he _was_ aware of, suddenly, was a low hum coming from deep within Kiyotaka’s throat.  It rumbled, not unlike a cat’s purr, but as his body stiffened in its place, moved to the back part of his mouth and escaped through his teeth.

Like a _hiss_.

It wasn’t even three seconds after that when he felt two fingers encircle his wrist, as though they were waiting for something.  He immediately looked to his right.

Kiyotaka’s eyes weren’t on him, but darting between the small group that stood in front of them.  His lips had parted to bare his teeth, body leaning forward, taking his weight off the couch and onto his feet - like he was getting ready to take the first opportunity to escape.   

…

The kid was actually preparing to _grab Mondo and bolt._

Apparently Kyouko noticed, because she seemed to soften, dipping her head slightly and taking a small step back.  

“...Because of the nature of the simulation itself, as well as the manipulation and pressure you have endured in that environment, all crimes committed within the school will be absolved, and none of the convicted parties will be tried further.”

Kiyotaka let out a huge breath, letting his eyes close and his posture slightly relax.  Mondo wanted to give him enough dignity not to stare at him, but he could hear that breath hitch halfway up his throat, and he knew what was likely going on.  

_“...However.”_

Kyouko paused again.  Mondo was starting to get irritated with her habit of maximizing tension. 

“If you are to act as a unit later, everything must be set out on the table now.”  She finally continued.  “The longer any grudges, distrust, or old wounds are allowed to fester, the more difficult it will be to unite when you need to.  Normally...these things would take time.  These things should take time, but that isn’t a luxury that any of us can afford.”

Mondo Oowada felt his stomach drop.


	4. Chapter 04.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FIRST OF ALL, I am SO SORRY it has taken so long for this fic to update! It was a combination of a bunch of factors, especially the fact that dr3 threw a massive wrench in the entire overarching plot of this fic. But, now I have it mapped out, and should be able to update much more regularly! I've been able to meet about 500-800 words a day lately, which is momentum that should make updating at least once a week easier. 
> 
> I'm also sorry that this chapter is a little bit more uneventful and short, especially for taking so long to be published (whoops!) but it's setting up for some things that I'm extremely excited to write. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has been encouraging me to update this through that excessively long hiatus, your words and continued support have been really motivating!

Funny.  Kyoko thought she was doing everyone a favor by separating them.  Victim. murderer, and a mediator, who just so happened to be three times Mondo’s size (or…five or six _now, actually_.)   _Nekomaru Nidai,_ he called himself.   Mondo briefly wondered why _he_ was the one assigned to this hulk of a man, but the answer was, in the end, obvious. 

Painfully so.  

Which was probably why the man’s body language was very strange to him.  He didn’t lock Mondo up, with cuffs or otherwise, and was more or less _completely_ relaxed in his spot at the head of the table.  Maybe it had to do with the fact that, as it stood,  Mondo was in no position to hurt anybody if he tried.  

Yeah.  That made more sense than the possibility that anybody around here trusted him.  

…For a split second before he was interrupted, Mondo managed to look Chihiro Fujisaki in the eye.  The first _good look_ he got of them since he woke up in this world.

_They’re taller._   _Longer hair.  Frail.  But…_

_…But no frailer than he was._

“…So.”  The man at the head of the table started, leaning back in his chair.  “Watched the whole thing live.  You two had one hell of a misunderstanding!”

Mondo winced.  Clearly, Nidai saw it, because he immediately made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “The higher ups want you guys on perfect terms, first day.  Sounds nice, but let me tell you about seeing this the first time…shit like that doesn’t fly.  It’s just not how things work in the real world.”

In one quick motion, Nidai flung his feet onto the table, crossing them at the ankles.  “I’m not about to make you kids scream it out for the sake of having this done in an hour.  Just…do me a favor and don’t get in a fistfight out in the lobby, alright?  You’ll work this out.  Believe me.”

Mondo’s first instinct was to ask him _how the hell he knew that,_ but he repressed it.  The longer he spent in here, the longer he spent away from Kiyotaka’s side.  

The longer he spent in here, the more likely Kiyotaka was to chalk it up to a hallucination, again.  

…And Mondo didn’t know how many times he could pull him out of it. 

* * *

As it turned out, Nidai had released them several minutes before whoever was mediating for Kiyotaka released him.  Him, and…whoever else they took into that room.  Mondo was starting to think they made a point of not telling him. 

Nidai’s heavy hand slapped down on his shoulder.  “Your pal is fine.  They’d tell me if anything was up.”  He said, before thrusting a white mug out in front of him.  “Drink up.  This’ll give you all the nutrients you need to start processing food again.  Make your shit soft, too!”

Some part of Mondo asked itself if he’d respond to that last part, had he not been lethargic and _incredibly_ weak - but…

…He didn’t know.  He didn’t know anything about himself anymore.  

Thankfully, Nidai continued before he let that thought really take root.  “I’m a trainer, you know.  A coach.  I know you’re itching to get your strength back.  I’m going to help you, when it comes time.”  He took a sip out of his own mug, which reminded Mondo to start drinking out of his.  

It wasn’t bad.  Bit of a metallic aftertaste, but that was easily ignorable.

“…Sorry we can’t start you on solid food, yet.  If it were up to me, I’d - hey, I told you he’d be alright!”

Mondo hadn’t even fully turned around when he felt Kiyotaka’s hand gripping his shoulder.  Just like before, it took a few seconds for him to loosen up, but once he got it in his head that Mondo was still physically there, he managed to relax.

“ - Anyway.  We’ll be in contact, Mondo Oowada.”  Nidai said, “Get some rest.  That’s as good as an order.”  

* * *

_Get some rest._ Mondo thought, trying to adjust himself. _Yeah.  I’m so fuckin’ sure._

Kiyotaka lay in the cot to his left, pushed as close to his as it could go. Mondo had offered a hand for him to hold onto if he needed it to sleep, which he took without hesitation.  

_Get some rest.  Trust that this will still be real in the morning._

He tried.  And tried.  

Eventually it became obvious that this wasn’t going to happen.  Maybe it had something to do with sleeping for four and a half years, but right now, exhausted though he was, rest was not going to come to him.

…It wasn’t coming to Kiyotaka either.   _He_ shot up in with heavy breaths that almost sounded like shouts, frantically trying to shove the long hair out from in front of his face.

“Whoa, whoa, hey -” Mondo said, scrambling to find some part of his shoulders that said hair hadn’t landed on where he could touch him, make some kind of contact.  The absolute worst case scenario was for Kiyotaka to revert back to that… _thing_ Mondo saw on the island.  He may well already be too late.  

“Mondo? Mondo?  Kyoudai?”  

“It’s me.  Hey, hey, breathe.  You gotta breathe, man, you’re gonna pass out…”

It took a minute, but he _did_ come to.  Thank god. 

“…You wanna get some air?” Mondo finally said, unsure if there was anything else he could say to calm him down.  “Kitchen, maybe?”

“No, Kyoudai. We…” He said between pants, eyes still wide and panicked.  “We need to sleep.”

“We’ve been asleep for four years.  One hour won’t kill us.”  Mondo bit his tongue, hoping that Kiyotaka didn’t pick up on his _terrible_ phrasing.  Both thankfully and not, he seemed too out of it to react, even if he did notice.  “…C’mon.  I’m sure they’d let you have water, at least.”

A few seconds of silence, then a small nod in the darkness.  Good. 

To Mondo’s surprise, he and Kiyotaka were not the only ones up. In fact…

…They may have been the only ones who even _tried_ to get to sleep.  

Everyone - or, nearly everyone, had gathered together in the living room and kitchen.  Not in the same way they’d gathered before, all sitting on the floor around one central person, lecturing them like a police debriefing.  This was…social.  Relaxed.  More relaxed than either Mondo or Kiyotaka would have expected the atmosphere to be for _weeks_ at least.  

Classmates gathered in small groups in different parts of the area.  Quiet laughing.  And…

_…Food?_

“Dude, I thought you’d never show up.”  

Mondo turned, as much as the wheelchair he was still confined to allowed, and caught the eye of Leon Kuwata, coming out from behind him.  

Huh.  Even expecting it, that beard still caught him off guard.  

…With that thought, he tried not to wonder how jarring his _own_ appearance must be to everyone else.

“Let’s get you something to eat.  Both of you.  What do you want?  Meat’s kinda off the menu, on account of every animal in the world being endangered now, but the substitute stuff ain’t half bad.  Course, there’s also like…soup and stuff…I don’t know what kind it is so I couldn’t really tell you…uh…rice…some vegetables…”

“…Wait, hold on.  We can eat?”

“You see Kirigiri anywhere?”

As a matter of fact, no.  Neither Kyoko, Makoto or Byakuya were anywhere to be found in either of the rooms.  

“Either they’re in bed, or they don’t want to be responsible if we all start puking.  Willful ignorance, you know?”  Leon said, already starting to make his way toward the kitchen.  Mondo’s chair didn’t move.  

“…Is this a good idea…?”  

It took a second for Mondo to register that the voice came from Ishimaru.  From somebody who was usually just as loud and intense as he was, from the only person who actually pushed back against Mondo’s intimidation - to be so quiet…

…He did have a point, though.  Even if Mondo had never been the type to give a rat’s ass about authority, he was also not planning on dying and leaving Kiyotaka to lose his mind again. Or worse.

Knowing that Kiyotaka probably wasn’t in a state to confront Leon directly, Mondo spoke up.  

“…Yo, is this actually alright?“

Leon turned back and shrugged.  “Might throw up, but it’s better than starving.  Besides, we’re celebrating, right?  Back from the dead?”

If the grip on his chair was anything to judge by, Kiyotaka still wasn’t convinced. 

“You’re in no real danger, Mondo Oowada.”  A familiar voice boomed, as a familiarly heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder.  Nekomaru Nidai thrust his other hand in his face, offering a shake.  “Sure, like he said, you could throw up.  You probably _will_ throw up.  But we took…oi, Souda, how long was it for us?”

“For your lot or mine?” A kid that Mondo had never met called from across the room, before making his way over.  “We ate right away.  Or…a few minutes after, maybe.”

“Did you throw up?”

“Every one of us, yep.”  Souda said.  “Dude…Mondo Oowada, right?”

“I…uh….yeah.”  Mondo wasn’t sure why that caught him off-guard.  Even outside of the Bosozoku culture, he maintained quite a reputation.  

Maybe the surprise had something to do with his near-unrecognizability.  

“…My dude…”  Souda grabbed his hand, shaking it forcefully.  “Kazuichi Souda.  Super High School Level Mechanic.  You know what that means, right?”  

Mondo didn’t even have the chance to try and answer his question before Souda answered it himself.  “- It means I’m gonna build you the coolest fuckin’ bike you’ve ever seen.  In time, of course.  I don’t really have everything yet -”

“Souda.”  Nidai said.

“What?”

“I asked you something.  When did we eat?”

“Didn’t you eat just now?  Jesus, dude…”

“…When did we eat for the first time? Right after we got out?”

“RIGHT, that.  Uh…an hour?  Two, maybe?  Honestly, I don’t know why these guys are getting starved out like this.  That’s brutal, man.”  

As though on cue, Leon appeared behind Nidai and Souda with two plates full of food.  “Dude…move, they haven’t eaten in four years.”

The two men stepped back just enough to allow Leon to shove his way in front of them and hand plates to Mondo, who hesitated for only a second before succumbing to the suddenly very noticeable ache in his stomach, and Kiyotaka, who only took his plate when he saw Mondo take his.  

“…Kyoudai, you don’t have to keep pushin’ me.  You should really be sitting down…”  Mondo said, gesturing toward one of the wooden chairs at a table a few feet away.  “I’ll join you over there, if you want…”

Again, he wasn’t met with words, but a small nod.

Their plan was to eat until they could tolerate the hunger pangs, and then ease into larger portions later, but the moment the food touched their lips, four years of intravenous feeding caught up with them.  They went back for seconds.  And thirds.  Each plate bigger than the last.  

Mondo ended up holding Kiyotaka’s hair as he threw up for the rest of the night.


End file.
